Crazy Hand's Masterpiece
by The Stupendous Jimbo
Summary: When Roy is invited into Crazy Hand's personal art gallery for a tour, he finds himself trapped in a psychological nightmare rifled with unspeakable terrors, only to find a truth darker than anything ever imagined. WARNING: THIS STORY IS NOT FOR KIDS!


Author: yyyup, that's right, I wrote a second horror story! Why, cause well, sometimes I actually get into a very serious mood and I feel like writing something dark. Hopefully you'll enjoy!

**Warning: Due to the intense nature of this story, i must warn those who are young or scare easily to be cautious when reading this! No, I'm not trying to play this off as some stupid way to scare you, I am seriously warning you that the contents of this story are NOT for children! You have been warned!**

**Crazy Hand's Masterpiece**

_July 17, 2007_

I didn't know how to react when the enigmatic Crazy Hand personally invited me to see his personal portfolio. To be honest, I would have never thought that the glove was an artist, considering his sporadic stature, but it was one of many surprises I would come to know of. If you were to ask me, dear reader, I would have guessed that Master Hand would be the artist of the family; but it was hard enough to grasp the concept of a tournament being run by possessed gloves. But I digress. Before I begin my testimony, I must warn you, dear reader that this letter is not being written as a means to tell some superficial horror story, nor is it my intention to give anybody nightmares. No, this is all from a visceral reaction, and I fear this is the only way to warn you of the impending danger.

I am not a man who fears the darkness, nor do I believe in the paranormal, but I do believe with all my constitution that there is such a thing as a line between genius and insanity. I must also warn you, dear reader that this is not a college English essay, and that English is my second language, so I cannot promise an error-free letter. There will be misspellings and I am still grasping the basics of grammar skills. But after tonight, the English language is not my top priority. This is your last warning, dear reader. Once you have finished reading my testimony, I implore you, no, beg you to pass it on to anybody you meet in the hall, then run. Run as far as you can. As long as you get as far away from this God-forsaken mansion as humanly possible, you'll be safe. As for me, I'm afraid it's too late.

It all started during the long hiatus that followed the Melee tournament. Everybody was celebrating Marth's tremendous victory over Fox. It had been a spectacular battle, and the moment that blue haired newcomer defeated last year's champion, Mario, we all knew he would carry the golden trophy back to his world. It was during this time of feast when Crazy Hand snuck up on me and asked me if I liked art. Personally it was a stupid question, considering art was a moderate fixation of mine right next to swordsmanship. So I told him that I didn't just like art, but I loved it. He responded with a low, distorted sound. I believe it was a chuckle of sorts, but at the time I was ignorant.

"Excellent", he responded, "I would like to show you something…"

Among the wide plethora of mysteries that rummaged through my head throughout the duration of the tournament, the secret to Master and Crazy Hand's ability to talk was among the top three. Nevertheless, somehow that talking glove piqued my curiosity. He led me through the main foyer, past the trophy room, and into the art gallery. I had spent the majority of my leisure time in this room. I didn't get far in the tournament, considering I had the unfortunate pleasure of facing Marth in the second round. It didn't bother me, considering the next three months went from a fighting tournament to a luxurious vacation.

"I would ask somebody else, but I've seen you hang around here more than your room. If you ask me, I personally wanted to move your bed in that corner, right next to the Starry Night."

I wasn't surprised that Crazy Hand knew my favorite painting was Van Gogh's "Starry Night". Something about that painting spoke to me. It felt alive, and knowing that he painted it in an insane asylum made it ever more chilling. Not only does it portray every emotion known to man, but knowing that he took his very own life one year after finishing it adds to the raw emotions put into it.

"I know I may not look it, but I'm also an artist," he spoke to me with a calm manner. I didn't know how to respond. At first I chuckled, thinking this was a joke, but the silence emitting from the glove showed me that he was not lying. Of course, at the time, the only thing running through my mind was that if this guy could really draw, I would be surprised to see a three dimensional object with definition, or dynamics that surpassed the level of childish stick figures. If only I knew, then, what he was truly capable of. Never in my wildest imaginations did I ever perceive this talking glove to be the embodiment of madness. If not madness, then pure psychopath. And if those words were not enough, then I would categorize his abilities as not only chilling, but flourishing genius.

"Would you like to see my portfolio?"

My mouth was dry. I was still taking in the fact he told me he knew how to draw, and thoughts of incertitude demanded I walk away. Even now, as I write this letter, I wish with all my heart that I would have walked away. If I had, then perhaps my ignorance would have saved me. I highly doubt it, but at least I would sleep peacefully for the remainder of my life.

I do not remember quite clearly what was running through my mind, at the time, but I do know that my silence gave him the impression I didn't hear him. "I asked you if you would like to see my portfolio."

His tone was calm. He didn't sound the same way he did during the tournament. Whenever he spoke, he would usually jitter, or fumble his words like an extremely ADHD child, but this time he sounded as if he was possessed by a much more resilient man. For the first time, I truly believed him to be Master Hand's brother. Despite the physical appearance, he was no way like his brother, except now.

Realizing my unusual silence, I managed to nod and uttered a small "sure". After that, I sensed a devious smile. I had no idea why, at the time, but I suddenly became scared. My imagination went wild, and I truly had no idea what to expect. Of course, the only thing I was thinking about at the moment was what kind of images he could possible create. What on Earth could this glove truly garnish in terms of creativity? The more I pondered, the more I wanted to know. And that mad psycho knew I was submitting to blind curiosity.

"Come, I'll show you my designs."

I was struck with confusion. At first, he called it his portfolio, but now he wanted to show me his "designs". It didn't really bother me, of course, but now all I think about is the word designs…Designs…A spectacular word indeed, provided with a variety of definitions. Again, if only I knew…

He led me out of the art gallery and down a few more corridors, some I had never become familiar with. The more unknown territory I found myself in, the more I felt an eerie presence. It had suddenly become freezing, and the chills rushing down my back gave me the impression I wasn't alone. Of course, it was only my imagination, but the more we walked in silence, the more I felt as if something was going to pop out of nowhere. I had no idea why, but I suddenly found myself turning my head every other step, bracing myself for any assailant to jump out at me. Unfortunately for me, Crazy Hand sensed my paranoia, and suddenly became the very assailant to jump out in front of me when he suddenly stopped.

"Do not worry, my friend. Nobody's here except me and you. I promise you we're alone."

I took a deep breath, relinquishing myself of my crazy paranoia. It was fruitless indeed to get scare of nothing. Of course, that was at the time.

The next room we entered lacked electricity, and suddenly everything became pitch black. Fortunately for me Crazy Hand lit a torch for us to see the spiraling staircase that circled itself down into what looked as if to be a bottomless pit. Later on I came to find out that the torch wasn't for us, but for me. The same case applied for the spiraling staircase considering that not only could Crazy Hand fly, but he could also see in the dark. It was amazing enough knowing he somehow had a pair of eyes to see with, but they were nowhere to be seen within the exterior portions of his anatomy.

"You must be wondering why I built these stairs if I could personally reach the bottom myself. Well, if you must know, it is my intention to showcase these paintings in the future whenever everything is ready. In the mean time, I feel it would be a waste of money to provide electricity, considering nobody else is allowed down here…Not even my brother…"

"What about the stairs?"

At first he didn't know what I was talking about, but he realized that if the area was prohibiting visitors, it would be foolish to provide a means of access. "Ah yes, a very good point, indeed…Unfortunately I cannot answer that question without giving away the surprise."

I heard another low rumble bellow out of him as he slowly guided my way down the long wooden staircase. Of course I didn't know what he was talking about at the time, and God knows the answer keeps me up more than the experience itself. After nearly twenty minutes of walking, we finally made it to the bottom, and in front of a giant, grey, metallic door. I looked around the area and noticed it closely resembled an underground cove, which led me to believe that was what to be expected past this door. Crazy Hand stopped me and placed his palm against the hinges, and paused.

The only thing I could hear for the next five minutes was my constant breathing. The air was thinning and I felt small drops of sweat trickle down my forehead as I finally came in terms with the humidity of the environment. I opened my mouth to ask him about the temperature, but was only interrupted by his shushing sounds.

Of course, my mind began wondering about the paintings, but I figured they would be fine. Finally after five more minutes of waiting, Crazy Hand opened the door, and motioned for me to enter and find out what exactly kind of artist he truly was. "Be careful, my friend," he whispered, "I must ask you to keep your voice at a minimum. No louder than a subtle whisper."

"Why?" I whispered back.

"To respect the sanctity of my work…That's all I can tell you…"

For a moment, it felt like his request was a bit outrageous, but given the fearful tone of his voice, it felt more like a warning. Furthermore, I couldn't help but feel we were not alone. Of course, it was merely a figment of my imagination, but given Crazy Hand's sudden paranoia, I couldn't help but keep my guard up as we walked through the dark tunnel. After ten minutes of silent walking, we came to a halt as Crazy Hand made his way to a small door that split the path. "Here's my first one," he whispered. He sounded excited, and could barely contain his own whisper as he opened the door and handed me the torch.

What stood before me was an awe-striking six foot painting of a young, blonde haired boy, but it wasn't just any young boy. He looked painfully distorted. His texture was rigid, his appearance was that of a cartoon, and the wild look on his face screamed of a child searching for an adventure. Of course, the blocky image of the boy wasn't what took my breath away, but the way it radiated life. The boy in the painting wore a green tunic, a matching shaded pointy hat, and had its small hands gently wrapped around a conductor's wand. The boy was smiling, innocently. The playful look in his shaded green eyes showcased his young age, yet, I felt warm, gazing at what looked to be a sadistic cardboard cutout of a young sailor.

"This is…"

I couldn't finish my sentence, for I was cut off by Crazy Hand's sudden urge to yank the torch out of my hand. "Come on, there's more to be seen…" He whispered, yet again.

As I followed him down the next path, my mind actively ran back and forth. I was shocked at the amount of detail he captured, but I was also slightly disturbed at his choice of paintings. I started asking myself who else was drawn in the eyes of Crazy Hand, but the answer to my question arrived at the next door. Once again, he handed me the torch and opened the wooden door for me, as I laid my eyes on a more disturbing mural of a blue, bipedal jackal-like creature. Unlike the boy, this creature captured a more serious emotion. To describe the creature as angry or sad would be wrong, rather a mix of stern and focused. His forepaws were black and had one white spike on each arm on the upper-side of its wrists. In addition, there was a third spike on this creature's chest. The jackal had a large snout and ears, a furry yellow torso, and its thighs were in the shape of what looked like blue shorts. Like the boy, he also resembled somebody, but this creature was completely different.

"I know the tail isn't as wide, but personally, I believe it captures his true fighting instincts…That of a dog, instead of a cat…"

I felt mortified looking at the painting; mortified not only at Crazy Hand's sadistic take on it, but at the life-like details that captivated the macabre setting. And what's worse is that the chills running down my spine wasn't out of disgust, but admiration. I felt humiliated that I saw this disturbing image as a work of art, and the very thought of using the word beautiful to describe it felt equally humiliating. Suddenly I felt afraid. I felt afraid that I was enjoying his paintings. I felt afraid that I wanted to see more twisted images of my friends, and that my curiosity urged me to go further into his portfolio. Somehow Crazy Hand had stripped me of my take on reality and gave me a whole new perception of life itself…And I admired him for it…

It got worse. The next painting he showed me was absolutely terrifying. It was a grotesque cross between a dragon and a green lizard, only it lacked the wings that were generally found in the stories. This giant beast had a pair of giant symmetrical horns that obscured the spot where his ears should be, fiery red hair that matched mine, and giant, razor sharp teeth that could easily penetrate the toughest of skins. It wore a spiked chain around its neck and stood in a battle stance. Just like the source of inspiration, the creature had giant spikes erected from its large, green shell. And just like the other paintings, this poor creature was subjected to the brutal mutation spited out from the demented strikings of Crazy Hand's brush. Was this Crazy Hand's idea of evolution? Was this the "designs" he was talking about? It was clearly obvious this monstrosity was no smaller than twelve feet tall, and like its predecessor, possessed an evil limited to nothing. At the time, I was only amazed at this warrior's true form, but nothing prepared me for what happened next.

"Truly a splendid work of art, if I say so, myself."

I couldn't comment. I was completely breathless at the awe-inspiring sick mutation this floating glove had created. And just like the other two paintings, it felt alive. But this one was more alive than ever. After gazing into it for what seemed like hours, it even gave off the illusion of moving. Of course, it was due to the shadows of the dancing flames on the torch, but even if then, the painting was more alive than the fire that lit the room. At this point, I found myself clashing back and forth between my urge to run away as fast as I could, and my intense yearning to push forward to sate the thirst of my eyes. The more I gazed at his paintings, the less human I felt. I could feel myself distancing away from my sanity, and into the scope of Crazy Hand's madness. Suddenly I felt the familiar aura of an unknown presence once again. Crazy Hand had continuously reassured me we were alone, but this time, even he stopped flinging his fingers wildly and stood still.

"Shh…." He whispered. I now no longer felt that he demanded silence for the sake of his paintings, but because of the eerie presence looming around the underground gallery. "Wait here…" He murmured. "And put that damn thing out!"

Before I could react, he grabbed the torch and stabbed it into the ground. Suddenly everything was pitch black. My heart raced faster as I barely watched the silhouette of Crazy Hand disappear out of the room. "Stay here!"

As if bound by a spell, I suddenly felt paralyzed. It was as if he wielded a certain magic through the authority of his voice, but I knew that my obedience was brought by fear. I was now trapped underground, sweating vigorously in unspeakable humidity, waiting for Crazy Hand to return. The only thing I could do at this point was cover my mouth and breath. My breathing was heavy, my body shivering all over, listening to silence. The room began to spin, as I sat there, helplessly waiting for something to pop out, desperately listening for a sound…Nothing…Five minutes passed, nothing…Ten minutes, nothing…The room got hotter, and I was now drenched, yet I shivered as if I were out in the snow.

I continued to steady my breathing, to wrap my arms around myself, as if I were creating a barrier from the unknown. I wished I had my sword on me, but I was unarmed. Another ten minutes passed, and Crazy Hand had yet to return. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, a loud pop cracked the air, breaking the anticipating silence. There was a deep, ear splitting screech, followed by a vibrating roar that rocked my hometown to its foundations. As if on impulse, I jumped to the ground, covering my mouth. I wanted to scream, but I was being suffocated by my own hand. There were more loud pops coming the distance, followed by an ear splitting cry. I recognized the loud popping sounds; it was the familiar crack of a shotgun, but not just any shotgun. I recalled the semi-finals when Crazy Hand and Master Hand fought against the semi-finalists, Fox, Mario, Marth, and Shiek, and I instantly knew that sound to be Crazy Hand's personal shotgun he equipped his fingers with. But what was he shooting? More gunfire, followed by the brutal cries of what sounded like a monster of the painting's proportions, then silence….

Five minutes passed and there was nothing…My breathing was out of control, my mouth was dry, and I was cradling myself in a puddle of sweat and tears. Suddenly the door creaked opened. "Are you okay?"

To my relief, it was Crazy Hand. Everything was still pitch black, but I could sense his presence, and detect him from the shallow silhouette. Suddenly there was light. Crazy Hand had lit another torch, and hovered over to me. He looked completely stiff, with smoke coming out of his index and middle finger. "You look sick…" He whispered.

"What….What was-"

"Don't worry about that…"

There was a slight tremor in his voice. "All I can tell you is that I'm working on designs for the next tournament…"

I didn't want to even know what it was, but furthermore, I began wondering what kind of obstacles were in store for us next year. It was something I figured he would explain to me later on. "Look, I really want to show you more, but we have to go."

Suddenly I felt relieved. If anything, this tour through Crazy Hand's secret gallery had been nothing but a nightmare, and I wanted nothing more than to leave and never come back. Of course, before we left, Crazy Hand insisted on showing me his "masterpiece". He told me there was more…Much more, but we didn't have much time.

"I promise you that we will leave after this."

He no longer sounded scared, but excited. "Is this okay with you?" He asked. Normally I would scream at him for even advocating the idea of staying here longer, but I knew he was my only way out, and this was the main reason he even brought me down here. Instinctively, I nodded. We walked briskly through more tunnels, stopping occasionally to listen for any more roars. While we were walking, we passed up a small painting of a giant boar, but we didn't bother stopping to allow me the opportunity to view more sadistic images he created. Finally we came upon a pair of giant, metallic double doors.

"This is what I wanted to show you…This is why I brought you down here…"

He handed me the torch and pushed open the doors, allowing me to gain entrance into the room. This room was unlike the others; it was semi-decorated in jade linings and had a few mirrors around to illuminate the room with the torch light. This painting was most definitely the most magnificent, and life-like of all. This painting truly shoved Crazy Hand across the line of Psychotic and into the depths of unimaginative brilliance. To tell you that I was shocked by the awesome megalomaniacal resonance displayed in this work of art would be an understatement.

Unlike the other paintings, this wasn't a monster. This was a magnificent, beautiful angel draped in white. His wings took up the broad majority of the painting, and he took the appearance of a young boy. His blue eyes emitted a look of innocence; his face took the look of a young boy, whose appearance emanated from the holy texture of his endeavor. In his arms were two halves of what appeared to be a bow, but at the same time, I knew it could be used as dual blades. The details revealed the amount of effort Crazy Hand had put in this drawing, but unlike the others, it had no resemblance. "Wow…" I uttered. Unlike the other paintings, I was completely breathless just staring at it.

"What do you think?"

"It truly is your best…"

We both looked at it as if we were in a trance, and for a moment I felt the true presence of an angel. Crazy Hand began muttering to himself.

"Pure…Innocent…Terrifying…"

As my eyes selfishly ate up every detail of this painting, a thought that had been eating away the back of my mind found itself posed allowed for Crazy Hand. "What was your inspiration?" I asked.

"Oh?"

"All of this stuff…Where did you get the idea?"

He chuckled to himself once more, and told me that it was confidential. I began wondering if he drew all this stuff on a piece of paper and transferred it to the mural, or if he simply drew it all by himself. Of course, I was never bothered to interrogate him, in fear of the answers. Instincts told me that the answers would possible be more horrific than the paintings he kept under the mansion. Another thought suddenly entered my mind. "Have you shown others?"

"A few…"

I figured that Crazy Hand would have shown his brother his personal gallery, despite even him not being allowed down here. But then again, I was unsure. Any sane, rational thinking being would instantly classify this guy as a total nut job. Of course, his name _was_ Crazy Hand, but we all figured it was because of his fighting style. In fact, I began asking myself what the others would think upon finding out that one of their hosts was an artist.

"Are you ready?" He asked. I nodded. I wanted more than ever to get out of this place. My throat was now to the point of killing me, and I felt that any moment I would pass out. As Crazy Hand took the lead for the exit, a small crumbled piece of paper fell out of the inserts of his glove. He evidentially didn't notice because he kept floating away, mumbling that same three word phrase, "Pure...Innocent...Terrifying...". I decided to pick up the crumbled ball and carefully placed it inside my pocket. I figured it was a pencil drawing of one of his paintings, perhaps something that inspired him to draw these terrifying images.

After about thirty minutes of walking to the sound of the glove's babbling, we finally reached the foot of the spiraling staircase. I made no hesitation to begin my trip, while Crazy Hand hovered lazily behind.

"Thank you for coming…" He muttered right behind me.

"No prob…"

Usually I would respond with something along the lines of explaining how sick in the head the glove was, or how brilliant of an artist he was. I also wanted to know what else was down there, and how many other paintings he had, but the only thing flashing through my mind was that crumbled piece of paper. I just had to know what it was. I knew for sure it was his inspiration for his paintings, I just knew it!

We parted ways at the corridor leading to the public art gallery, and the moment Crazy Hand left my sight, I instantly ran to my room.

Dearest reader, what I'm about to explain to you may come off as a shock, and I understand if you do not believe a word I say, but I can guarantee you that that possessed glove is the pure essence of evil. I have no idea what's going to happen to me, and for all I know, it may be too late. In the event that I'm no longer a part of this world, and you're just now reading this, I beg you to heed my warning and pay close attention to what I'm about to tell you in the next paragraph.

Upon opening that crumbled ball of paper, what I found was so unspeakably terrifying, so unimaginative that I knew at that moment I had to write this down. It has been a couple of hours since I saw the contents of the crumbled paper, and as you may have just figured out, I began writing this the moment I saw it. That piece of paper explained everything, and I now know what Crazy Hand was talking about when he described his portfolio as "designs". And I now know what the spiraling staircase was for, and even that frightful event that happened after seeing that dragon painting. To my horror, I saw, written in red, the words "Pure, Innocent, Terrifying" blotched over the picture, depicting the acronym as the title to his masterpiece. There is no doubt in my mind that I was completely shocked, when I opened that crumbled ball of paper, and found a photograph of none other than myself.

* * *

><p><em>November 27, 2007<em>

_IMPORTANT NOTICE FROM THE SUPER SMASH BROS. STAFF_

_Dear contestants,_

_For reasons we are not at liberty to discuss, the following contestants will NOT be attending the third installment of the Super Smash Bros. Fighting Tournament next year…_

Author: Alright first off, I hope I didn't scare anybody or give anybody nightmares; despite how that's the point of horror, but hey, I enjoyed writing this, despite how it's a little creepy. Second of all, this was inspired by H.'s short story: Pickman's Model. It's a VERY good read for those who like dark, creepy stories, and if you read it, you'll find that I definitely ripped it off and added my own themes, but consider this credit.

Overall I hope you enjoyed the story, feel free to leave a review or two, and thank you! Until next time!


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